The air of Berdantia did not hit Natan with the gentle breeze of a peaceful frontier, it struck him like a runaway carriage.
One second, he was standing in the cool, echoing silence of Andata's underground forge. The next, the Wayfarer's Coin dissolved into a puff of lukewarm copper ash between his fingers, and a sickening, violent tug snatched him by the navel. Reality snapped back into place with a sound like tearing parchment, dropping him hard onto his knees upon damp cobble.
He gasped, gripping his chest. His ribs, healed only moments ago by the dwarves' glowing moss, throbbed with a dull shock. But the physical discomfort was instantly swallowed by the chaos raging around him.
Screams echoed off towering, mud-brick buildings adorned with glowing moss and wooden scaffolding. Sirens, powered by shrieking wind-spells, wailed from high watchtowers. People were running, a chaotic tide of elemental denizens with skin resembling tree bark, river stone, and spun quartz, all surging away from the city center.
"Step aside, kid, unless you want to end up six feet under," a voice boomed.
Natan looked up, blinking dust from his eyes, and instantly regretted it.
Standing over him was a monolithic creature, easily eight feet tall, composed entirely of churning, dense brown sludge. Thick roots and river stones were woven through its massive torso like exposed muscle, and it wore a surprisingly sharp, brass-buttoned officer's coat stretched to its absolute limits across its broad shoulders. A tarnished badge pinned to its lapel read District Enforcement.
"What are you doing here, brat?" the mud man officer snapped, his voice sounding like two heavy boulders grinding together at the bottom of a riverbed. His face shifted constantly, a wet, grumpy grimace reforming with every syllable.
"Uh, I just arrived here," Natan answered plainly, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.
The officer squinched his hollow, yellow-glowing eyes, a heavy splatter of mud dripping onto the cobblestones near Natan's shoes. "Using what?"
"A Wayfarer's Coin," Natan said, holding up his empty, ash-stained palm as proof.
The officer leaned down, his chest emitting a squelching sound that made Natan's stomach turn. "Do you have a license?"
Natan froze. "What license?"
"Are you kidding me?" The mud man raised a massive, five-fingered hand, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "You need a Class-A Magico-Spatial Permit to operate any teleportation device within district lines, or even to board a basic wind-skiff. So what are you, a smuggler, or just a cheap criminal, huh?"
Natan's heart dropped straight into his boots. He was dead. Andata, in all her centuries of grand, ancient wisdom, had completely forgotten to mention that instant travel across municipal borders required government paperwork.
Before the officer could reach down and scoop Natan up by his collar, another guard came skidding around the corner. This one was smaller, a swift-moving creature formed from compacted red clay, breathing heavily as sloughed clay flaked off his shoulders.
"Chief Gravel," the junior officer panted, salute completely forgotten. "The perimeter on Third Avenue is collapsing. We have three more unstable dimensional rifts opening near the central market!"
Chief Gravel tore his yellow glare away from Natan, letting out a deep, wet groan of frustration. "Did the evacuation clear?"
"The local elemental citizens are out, sir. We funnelled them toward the subterranean vaults," the clay guard reported, wiping a smear of red dirt from his forehead. "The good news is the civilian zones are empty. The bad news is we have a dozen shadow-mutes and iron-pikes surging out of the portal, and we're just sitting on our hands waiting for the C-ranking Seelies to get here and handle it."
Hearing that, the chief's face melted slightly in sheer rage, reforming into a terrifying, jagged snarl.
"C-ranking?" Gravel roared, a glob of mud splashing against a nearby shop sign. "Where are the higher ranks? Where are the B-ranks or the A-ranks? We have a full-scale containment breach!"
"They refused the dispatch call, Chief," the younger guard said nervously, shrinking back. "The guild masters said the rift didn't open on private guild territory or high-noble property. Unless the district council guarantees a triple-payout bounty, the upper-tier Seelies aren't lifting a finger."
"Arrogant, greedy parasites," Gravel spat, his fist slamming into the brick wall of a building, leaving a deep, cratered imprint. "The longer those monsters scatter through the streets, the more this city gets torn to splinters. We can't hold those rifts with standard municipal guards!"
It was then that the junior officer finally turned his eyes toward the ground and froze. His clay jaw drifted open. He stared at Natan, his eyes wide with absolute horror.
"Chief," the young guard whispered, pointing a trembling, red finger. "What is a citizen doing inside the containment perimeter?"
"I was just about to arrest him for spatial trespassing," Gravel muttered grumpily.
"No, Chief, look at him," the guard insisted, stepping closer. "He has no mana footprint at all. He's completely un-attuned. Being this close to an unsealed spatial portal without a protective barrier... his internal organs should be hemorrhaging from the raw ether radiation right now."
Natan blinked, looking down at his hands. He felt fine, outside of the sheer panic, though he did notice a faint, diamond-shaped luminescence glowing softly from his hip. The Diamond Sword, resting heavy in its scabbard, was absorbing the invisible, oppressive weight lingering in the air, pulsing like a quiet, rhythmic heart.
The young guard's eyes drifted down to Natan's waist, tracing the magical hum back to the artifact, and then up to the ancient, master-crafted sheath strapped to Natan's waist.
"Is that..." the clay guard swallowed hard. "Chief, look at the artifact. That's high-tier ancient forging. He isn't bleeding out because the relic is devouring the portal's bleed-off magic."
Chief Gravel stopped, his yellow eyes locking onto the glowing sword at Natan's hip, and then scanning the boy's calm, unharmed posture. The grumpy, bureaucratic scowl on the chief's muddy face slowly dissolved, replaced by a look of sharp, sudden re-evaluation.
"Well, well," Chief Gravel grunted, stepping closer and looming over Natan like a dark, living mountain. "Look at that. Unharmed by ether-radiation, carrying ancient sword, and walking right into a combat zone without batting an eye."
The chief leaned down, his wet, muddy face stopping just inches from Natan's.
"Are you a Seelie?" Gravel demanded, his tone a mix of suspicion and desperate expectation. "Tell me, kid, are you a merc from the Guild?"
"I don't know what a Seelie is," Natan said, holding up his hands in a calm, placating gesture as he stood up from the cobbles. "I'm just a normal traveler. I'm passing through to find some ancient artifacts."
Chief Gravel stared at him, his yellow eyes narrowing into thin, glowing slits amidst his shifting face. "A normal traveler who strolls into a active containment zone with zero mana attunement, casually carrying a divine-tier relic on his hip, and doesn't even know what a Seelie is?" The chief let out a heavy, squelching sigh that sounded like a shovel striking wet earth. "You're either the worst liar in Eldoria or the luckiest fool alive."
"I'm telling the truth," Natan insisted, adjusting the weight of the Diamond Sword at his side. "Look, if I'm breaking some law by being here, I can just leave."
"Leave?" Gravel let out a booming laugh, a splatter of mud dropping from his chin onto his coat. "Kid, you used a unregistered spatial coin, crossed municipal borders without a permit, and stepped right into a crisis zone. I could throw you into the subterranean iron cells until your hair turns grey."
The junior officer, still trembling slightly, nudged his supervisor's elbow. "Chief... the portal on Third Avenue just expanded. The perimeter guards are falling back. If those shadow-mutes reach the commercial sector, Fondstandt City is going to lose half its infrastructure before nightfall."
Gravel frowned, his muddy brow furrowing as he looked back and forth between the smoking city street and Natan. He crossed his massive arms, river stones grinding loudly within his chest.
"Can you fight, brat?" Gravel asked abruptly.
Natan paused. The image of the Elven Priest flashed in his mind, the cold, effortless magic that had pinned him to the ground, the terrifying illusion of his sister trapped in a cage of light, and his own utter helplessness. Yet he also remembered the weight of the diamond blade when he pulled it, the way its magnetic hum felt like an extension of his own pulse.
"Partially," Natan answered, his voice steadying. "I can handle myself if I have a blade in my hand."
Chief Gravel glanced at the clay guard beside him. The two exchanged a silent, knowing look, the kind shared by weary veterans who recognized a desperate gamble when they saw one.
"Here's the deal, traveler," Gravel said, leaning in close enough that Natan could smell damp soil and rain. "Fondstandt City is under attack, and my men are stretched thin because those pampered Guild Seelies are sitting on their hands waiting for a bigger paycheck. You help us clear the monsters coming out of that rift and keep this district standing."
"And in exchange?" Natan asked, leaning back slightly.
"In exchange, I conveniently forget that I ever saw you step off a spatial coin without a permit," Gravel said, a wide, toothless grin opening across his muddy face. "No arrest, no fines, and no iron cell. I'll even write you a official district clearance pass so the next guard you run into doesn't drag you off to jail. What do you say?"
Natan looked down Third Avenue, where dark, jagged energy rippled through the air, casting long, unnatural shadows against the mud-brick buildings. The path ahead was treacherous, but he needed to move freely if he was going to trace the seven relics and save Maya. He couldn't afford to be locked in a dungeon over paperwork.
Natan reached down, his fingers closing around the cold leather grip of the Diamond Sword.
"Show me where the monsters are," Natan said.
The air around Third Avenue smelled of ozone, burnt ash, and wet copper. Black, jagged rifts tore through the sky like open wounds, humming with a violent, unstable energy that made Natan's teeth ache.
"Listen to me, traveler," the clay officer yelled over the screeching wind, ducking behind a overturned fruit cart. "Those rifts won't seal on their own, and ordinary steel will just shatter against the spatial magic. You need to strike the core of each portal with that ancient blade of yours. Cut the anchor, and the rift collapses. But there are five portals scattered across this district, and a horde of nightmares standing between you and every single one!"
Natan didn't wait for further instructions. He drew the Diamond Sword from its sheath, the blade letting out a high-pitched, metallic hum that vibrated through his arms. As he gripped the leather hilt tighter, a soft, radiant white light ignited along the edge of the steel. It was a faint residual trace of forbidden light magic, a leftover blessing from his encounter with the Elven Priest, pulsing in harmony with the weapon.
From the shadows of the alleyways, the creatures emerged. They were creatures from the darkest bedtime stories his grandfather used to tell him to keep him inside after dusk.
A pack of Sigbin darted across the cobblestones, their long ears floppy, their goat-like bodies walking backward with uncanny, unnatural speed. They leapt at him, their whip-like tails snapping through the air. Natan pivoted, sweeping his blade in a clean horizontal arc. The moment the light-infused steel grazed the first beast, a brilliant flash of white fire erupted, instantly incinerating the creature into fine grey ash.
"It works," Natan muttered, a surge of adrenaline flooding his veins.
He pressed forward toward the first portal, parrying the screeching assault of a Tiyanak, a hideous, demon-faced infant that dropped from a wooden roof beam with razor-sharp claws outstretched. Natan sidestepped, bringing the pommel of his sword down hard on its head before delivering a swift upward slash. The light magic burned through its dark form, vaporizing it instantly.
He reached the first rift, raised his sword with both hands, and plunged the blade directly into the swirling vortex. The portal shrieked like tearing metal, collapsing in on itself before vanishing completely. One down. Four to go.
Natan carved his way through two more streets, destroying the second and third portals with practiced precision. His footwork was raw, relying on standard human swordplay and quick reflexes, but the radiant blade compensated for his lack of formal magic, cutting through dark beast after dark beast.
However, as he reached the fourth portal near the town square, the cobblestones violently trembled.
A colossal ghoul, easily three times the size of a man, burst from the cellar doors of a baker's shop. Its skin was mottled grey, its jaws distended to reveal rows of yellowed, jagged fangs, and its eyes burned with hollow hunger. Before Natan could set his stance, the beast swung a massive, clawed arm, smashing through his guard.
The impact sent Natan skidding across the wet stone, his breath exploding from his lungs. Before he could recover, the giant ghoul leaped, landing heavily on his chest and pinning him to the ground. The creature's foul, rotting breath washed over his face as its claws dug deep into his shoulders, pinning his arms to the cobbles. Natan struggled, but the sheer weight of the monster was suffocating. He couldn't lift his sword.
"End of the line, little meat," the ghoul gurgled, raising its jaw to tear into Natan's throat.
Suddenly, a sharp, mechanical click echoed through the air, followed by the high-speed whine of spinning gears.
A metallic blur descended from above. A heavy, iron-plated arm wrapped around the giant ghoul's neck from behind, wrenching the monster backward off Natan with terrifying, hydraulic force.
Natan scrambled up, gasping for air, and watched in utter astonishment. The newcomer was a man, or at least half of one. His right arm, torso, and part of his face were crafted from gleaming, intricate brass and dark iron, with miniature steam pipes venting soft mist from his shoulders. His remaining human eye was sharp, gray, and entirely calm.
With a single fluid motion, the cyborg man drove a hidden, pneumatic blade from his iron wrist directly into the ghoul's skull. The massive beast shuddered once and dissolved into shadow.
The stranger retracted his wrist-blade with a metallic click, turned his gray eye toward Natan, and offered a heavy, iron hand. "Need a lift, kid?"
Natan hesitated for half a second before grabbing the cold metal hand, allowing the stranger to haul him effortlessly to his feet.
"Two portals left," the metal man said, his voice carrying a soft, rhythmic mechanical undertone. "Let's finish the job before the mud officers cry themselves to sleep."
Working together, they were unstoppable. While the stranger used his mechanical speed and iron limbs to crush the remaining waves of ghouls and beastly spirits, Natan advanced behind him, using the radiant light of his Diamond Sword to strike down the fourth and fifth portals. With a final, thunderous crack, the last rift sealed, leaving the district in a heavy, echoing silence.
As the smoke cleared, Chief Gravel and his junior officer came rushing down the street, their heavy footsteps squelching against the mud.
"Scribe Slash, you're here!" Chief Gravel greeted joyfully, his grumpy demeanor completely vanishing as a wide, relieved smile opened across his muddy face. "Thank the high gods you were in the lower district."
The metal man sighed, brushing a speck of black soot from his polished brass shoulder. "I was trying to enjoy a quiet cup of tea, Gravel. Your guards make entirely too much noise when they panic."
Chief Gravel chuckled, turning toward Natan, who was wiping sweat from his forehead. "Traveler, allow me to introduce you. This is Scribe Slash."
Natan blinked, looking at the formidable half-iron warrior. "A scribe? What's that?"
"He holds immense intellectual seniority at the De Cruz Akademiya," Gravel explained, waving a thick muddy hand in respect. "Officially, his career rank at the Akademiya is just a humble Scribe. He deliberately keeps that low-profile, functionary rank so he can avoid mountain-loads of paperwork, administrative meetings, and annoying politics."
Gravel leaned in closer to Natan, lowering his voice slightly. "In truth, his power and authority far exceed those pompous, high-ranking Guild Seelies who refused to help us today. When the world needs actual results instead of flashy titles, warriors like Slash are the ones who handle it."
Natan looked at Slash, a newfound understanding dawning in his mind. The mysterious terms of this world were finally starting to make sense. The Seelies were the celebrated, money-hungry mercenaries of the Guild, but true strength in Eldoria often hid behind humble titles, hidden relics, and quietly dangerous people.
Slash met Natan's gaze, his mechanical eye zooming slightly with a faint click as it scanned the Diamond Sword resting back at Natan's hip.
"Nice blade, kid," Slash said dryly. "Now, suppose you tell me why a citizen with light magic on his steel is running around Berdantia without a license?"